


A Dance with the Devil

by TruebornAlpha



Series: The Christmas Caper [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationship, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1940s, Detective Noir, Detective Stiles, EVERYONE'S HUMAN, M/M, Murder Mystery, Sciles, Singer Scott, Teen Wolf AU, noir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 11:48:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5495978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TruebornAlpha/pseuds/TruebornAlpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few days before Christmas 1948, hard-boiled Detective Stiles Stilinski was hired by Scott McCall to investigate his boss, Theo Raeken. Eager to take down the head of a powerful criminal organization, Stiles lept at the chance to destroy Theo and impress his handsome client. A break in the case leads Stiles one step closer to the truth, but death is close behind.</p>
<p>Or, that Sciles detective noir story!</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Dance with the Devil

Stiles regretted it the moment he stepped into his office, shaking snow from the hem of his coat. He’d forgotten to leave the heat on, or maybe they’d really followed through on their threats to turn it off. It was freezing cold, and he blew on his hands to warm them before fiddling with the thermostat and hoping something would work. It would have been better to stay in Scott’s apartment where it was warm, and there was plenty of room to think. Even without the singer there to distract him, there had to be secrets in that place that could shed some light on Theo’s favorite toy. He seemed like a contradiction, an irresistible siren who played with sex like a lure and a frightened innocent who needed help. He was naïve and gentle, but there was something dangerous and cunning about him too. A wolf in sheep’s clothing, Stiles didn’t know which version was real. Could they both be?

He flopped back into his chair, the wood creaking as he leaned back. A list full of numbers. If he could crack that, he could figure out what Theo was up to that was worth locking away from prying eyes. His money was on drugs, it seemed like Raeken’s sort of racket. Quick cash, a steady supply of down and out dependents doing anything for a fix, and the chance to rule an empire in the city. It was easy to see how even a shark like Hale could have fallen prey to the likes of him. With his connections, Theo could have made quick work of the other petty dealers and set himself up as some sort of kingpin. Plus with his political clout, he’d be almost untouchable unless Stiles could find a way to expose him directly without giving Theo a chance to wriggle away or pass the blame on to some willing subordinate.

The phone rang and the detective sighed, checking all the empty bottles in his desk to see if there was anything left to fortify his nerves before answering. It was never good news.

“Hello?”

“Stilinski, where the hell have you been?”

The dulcet tones of Malia Tate were more effective than a shot of coffee in the morning.

“Good morning to you, too, detective. Should I be flattered you’ve been looking for me?”

“Keep that up, and I’ll flatten you. Been looking for you since last night, and you still haven’t found a girl desperate enough to take your messages. I need all your files from that case we worked last September.”

Stiles inwardly scoffed. If he’d found anyone willing to work for peanuts, Detective Malia of the NYPD would have scared them off anyway. It wasn’t wise to keep her waiting. He didn’t have a lot of friends with badges anymore, not since what happened with Theo, but somehow, he’d found the last good cop in New York. The only female detective in a cutthroat city, Malia was tough, fair and unafraid to throw a punch. Unfortunately, Stiles still had a shitty filing system at best. He pulled open his drawer and found a mess, but hey, at least he had a pen to chew on.

“The freight case?” Stiles asked. It was a hard one to forget. Stiles had been roped into finding a lost purse at the same time a local peddler had been looking for ways to expand his organization. One thing lead to another. Malia came in with a blazing gun, and came out with a promotion. “You know I’m not a file sorta person, Mal. What are you looking for?”

He could hear her annoyance over the phone. It was kind of scarily endearing, mostly scary though. “Everything.”

“Everything? Sounds big, detective, come on. Give me something to work with so I’m not caught with my pants down when you get on the front page. Maybe I can help.”

“I’m not paying for your gas this winter, Stilinski.” Stiles let out a sound of protest. She relented generously, but Stiles couldn’t miss the excitement in her tone. This was definitely big. “Fine. Keep this between the both of us, or you’ll lose your tongue. We think we’ve found one of Radtke’s guys. They’re dropping like flies. I need an edge over the competition.”

“Then it won’t be a competition, doll. It’ll be a massacre. Who’s the stiff?”

“Peter Hale.”

Stiles felt his stomach drop. That Peter Hale ended up dead was no surprise, Stiles had known Theo was a monster from the moment the slick club owner had set up shop in the city. He put on a good act and his lies were convincing, but it was hard to win over someone who didn’t trust anyone. Stiles’s paranoia had often worked against him, but even a broken clock was right twice a day, and he felt like rubbing someone’s face in his success.

“He was a big name in the organization, wasn’t he? Tied to everything from drugs and smuggling to racketeering, but too oily to make anything stick. I can’t imagine Radtke is going to be too happy about losing one of his top operatives. Any suspects?”

“If I had a name, I certainly wouldn’t be telling you.” Malia said briskly. “This isn’t your case, I don’t want you involved, Stilinski. Last time you stuck your big nose in something, you really fouled it up.”

The man sighed heavily into the receiver, putting on dramatics for her benefit. “You know I was right about that case.”

The voice hummed down the line with annoyance and quick as an electric jolt. “You were right about your _purse_. Anyway, I don’t want to hear it. You play fast and loose with the rules, and I’m not going to get sucked into your obsessions. Just give me what I need on the freight case and stay out of it. Maybe if you learn how to behave, I can convince the brass to start throwing cases your way again. _Small_ cases.”

“Yeah, yeah. How sweet of you, Officer.” Stiles growled around the pen clamped in his teeth, sorting through his file cabinet for the overstuffed folder. He really needed to get a girl in here to help him organize and deal with the annoying client shit so he could focus on the actual work. A hot one too, no one said he couldn’t enjoy a few perks with his job. Maybe Scott would like to think of a second career as a receptionist? Not that Stiles could pay anyone for the job, finding an attractive assistant who didn’t mind never receiving a paycheck was hard work. “Got it.” He snagged the file and dropped it on his desk with a thud.

“Good. I need the freight numbers for verification and-”

“Freight numbers!” Stiles almost dropped the phone and scrambled for the slip of paper with the series of numbers Scott had given him from Theo’s desk. Not train numbers, no. There were too many digits involved in these, but he recognized a pattern. Shipping containers, the kind that piled up from cargo ships down at the port. They were all branded with their own unique string of numbers to keep them straight, but there were always too many for the port authorities to inspect them all and it was always easy to corrupt an underpaid city employee. It was the perfect way to smuggle a large shipment of drugs into the city right under everyone’s noses. “Malia, I could kiss you.”

“You try it and you’ll lose your teeth, bub.”

Stiles made kissy noises at the receiver, but the sooner Malia got her numbers, the sooner she left him alone. Stiles was vibrating with excitement the entire time. Peter Hale was proof that Theo was expanding into the drug market, and once he intercepted this shipment, there was no way anyone was going to be able to ignore Stiles.

He tore out of his office with a skip in his step, and if he’d had a secretary, he probably would’ve tried for a kiss goodbye.

Without her hungry audience, The Chimera lost her shine, nothing more than a sad husk with a shiny finish. She needed greed to sustain her, and leached an endless supply from the dangerous, angry men of the city’s underbelly. Yet at the center of it all, still commanding the stage was Scott McCall. The spotlight wasn’t on, and like this, his hard edges shone through, jagged and unforgiving, but they only made the the siren’s song more dangerous.

“One more time from the top.” Scott ordered, turning to his band as he wiped the sweat off his brow. Even if he was just a lounge singer, there were certain things expected of him, appointments he had to keep, meetings he had to make. His absence would be reported to his boss, but Scott was hoping to get off early. Everything was almost ready for tonight, but he couldn’t let anticipation make him careless. 

“I thought that sounded perfect.” A familiar voice cut through the empty room. Scott’s first instinct wasn’t to kneel. It was to attack, but Theo Raeken was the king of this castle. The room stopped when he walked through, head held high and smile just this side of wicked. “You always do.”

“Thank you.” It was the smile that always undid him, mischievous and full of humor. It could cut as sharply as a knife and it could tease until Scott’s heart raced and he willingly surrendered. It was a vicious cycle, but he stopped the band and ducked his head at the compliment.

“Don’t be so modest, you know you’re the best. You always doubt yourself, Scott.” Everyone politely looked away as the club owner walked across the stage and pulled the singer close. “You need to believe in yourself more.”

“I’ll try.” Scott relaxed into the familiar arms that had supported him and kept him standing through some of the worst times in his life. Just because he knew how much they could hurt didn’t mean he could forget how good they could feel too.

Theo bumped their noses,proximity promising so much more. They were usually careful in front of the other employees, their affection a private thing for no one else to see. He must have been in a good mood today. “I brought you a present.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Shhhh.” He put the small bag in Scott’s hands. “Just open it.”

Scott crinkled the brown paper between his fingers before peeking inside and a wide, sunlight smile spread across his face. The little sugar candies were cheap, a nothing gift. They cost just a few pennies. To anyone else, they would never compare to all the expensive clothes and fancy toys that Theo showered on him, but Scott knew this mattered more. They’d always been his favorite and were from a different life, Theo had to go out of his way to the cheap side of the city to find them and the only reason he did was to make Scott happy. “You didn’t have to go through so much trouble.”

“You’re never trouble, baby.” Theo’s voice was sincere and Scott threw his arms around the other man with a laugh. Whenever he doubted, that silvered tongue and charm knew just what to say to bring him back.

“You’re such an idiot.” Scott pressed a kiss to his boss’s cheek, much too fond for his own good.

“That’s what they say about people in love.”

And it was love, Scott never doubted it. There were barbs and venom, but this was how Theo Raeken loved another person. How could Scott have ever thought the worst about the only person in his life who had ever cared? It was the sort of love someone like Scott deserved. Theo had already given him more than he could ask for, from the very first moment they met, when only his mercy kept Scott alive.

Scott never wanted to hurt him. He’d searched for so long to find a way that he could avoid it, and this was the best solution all around. Yet with Theo’s grip warm around his waist, grounding him like he had for the all years they’d known each other, Scott wondered if it was enough.

“I love you.” He promised, three little words that made Theo’s eyes go dark and his grip tighten. Scott cupped his cheek, slowly dragging his thumb across his soft, sweet mouth. It wasn’t seduction. The rest of the world saw the product of a game they played to survive in the world Theo had spilled blood, sweat and tears to make his own. Theo didn’t need an act to get off. Scott gave him his heart. “Play us something slow boys.”

It was Theo’s turn to laugh, and he spun Scott around, his hands spread over the same places he’d once left bruises so big, Scott couldn’t walk without cringing. That had been just last month, and the singer inhaled sharply, ducking his head to brush another kiss over Theo’s cheek. They swayed to soft jazz, in front of a crowd who would never say a thing, and Scott thought of warm brown eyes with a different sort of wickedness. 

“I want to kiss you,” Scott whispered. He didn’t make the rules. He never knew when they changed. “Can I do that here?”

“Later.” Theo murmured against his skin. “When we’re alone, I’ll give you everything.”

The singer shivered, anticipation creeping alone his spine. When it was good, it was _good_. Theo had a way of knowing what he needed before he could even find the words. Possessive and obsessed could sometimes be interchangeable with generous and thoughtful. Guilt pricked at his conscience and for the thousandth time, Scott wondered if he was doing the right thing. It would be a betrayal, things weren’t so bad. At least here, he was loved and that was more than anyone else had ever given him. If he ruined this, he’d be on his own again. A little pain was nothing compared to knowing without any doubt that someone cared about him. He could stay, things could get better. They might get better?

Theo slid his hands down Scott’s back, daringly intimate in public as they swayed together to the music like they did in the private of Theo’s apartment to the tiny sound of his radio. Scott could go back to his gilded cage and spend the rest of his life spoiled as long as he never looked too closely at the blood on Theo’s hands.

“Can I come over tonight?”

“Of course, pet.” Theo whispered and Scott’s breath caught. There it was, that was how it always ended. Theo loved him, but he was a pet and would never be more than just a belonging. It was why he had to risk everything in a desperate, dangerous plan no matter how much it hurt. Freedom was frightening and loneliness even more so, but if he stayed, he’d be a prized and admired toy until he finally broke. Theo’s lived a life of poison, and it hurt his enemies as much as did the people around him. Scott put on his best smile to cover the hurt and gently pulled away.

“I can’t wait.”

Theo cuffed Scott gently on the cheek, smiling with incredible affection. The urge to kiss his pet burned brightly beneath his skin, to take him apart on the same stage he captivated his audience on, to break him down the way so many people wished they could. He loved it when his Scott put on a show for him, his beautiful, dangerous temptress to command.

“Boss.” One of his men called, from the edge of the stage. “You got a call in your office.”

Business before pleasure as it was. He gave Scott’s hand one final squeeze. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

Scott whispered his goodbye, a goodbye that meant so much more than his boss would know because he never expected to see Theo Raeken again.

A heavy mist settled over the docks, worse this time of year than any other. It made breathing hard, like a thousand needles pierced the inside of his nose. Stiles shivered in his coat, but anticipation and the promise of glory drove him harder than a thick scarf could. He’d read Scott’s scribbles so many times, he was sure he’d memorized every digit, but the first time he caught sight of a cargo freight with big numbers spray painted across its corner in the same format, his heart jumped all the way to his throat.  

He had a list of shipments. He needed to find out when they’d come in without tipping his hand. This would be a lot easier if he had Malia’s badge to back him up, but the last time he’d stolen it, he’d ended up in the emergency room unable to feel his face.

The paper pusher at the docks was a wiry thing whose name tag said Diaz but insisted he be called Josh. He looked like someone needed to point out the difference between a freight and his mother before he could get the hint. Stiles trusted him about as far as he could throw him, but he jumped for a scratch. Stiles was sad to see Scott’s money go.

Huddled inside the Longshoremen’s office, where things were about a degree warmer than they were outside, Stiles poured over the books with a pinched scowl. “What time d’tha ships come in, Josh?”

“Usually in the night, boss. You looking for something big?”

_Just more money than you’d ever dreamed of in your life._ “I didn’t pay you to ask questions.”

“You didn’t pay me to not ask them, either.”

Stiles rolled his eyes so hard, he was worried they’d freeze to the top of his skull, but he was so engrossed with flipping through the info on the latest list of expected incoming deliveries, he didn’t notice when Josh moved closer, or the heavy wheeze of a metal wrench flying through the air before it was too late.

In his considerably warmer dressing room across town, Scott picked up a bag of supplies he’d stowed surreptitiously among his show gear. He had a package to get to, and after that, a phone call to the police. By the time they figured out who made it, New York was going to be a thousand miles.

Then there was a knock on his door, and Scott nearly dropped everything.

“Mr. McCall, the boss wants to talk to you.”

Stiles woke up with a groan, head throbbing in time with his heart beat. His mouth tasted like blood and bile and he couldn’t get his eyes to focus. Every time be blinked them open, even the dim light filtering through his window was enough to make him wince. He carefully touched the swollen lump on the back of his head and his fingers came away sticky. He couldn’t remember how he’d gotten here or where here was, but he needed to stop the ache before he could string together his thoughts coherently.

Stomach roiling as he dry heaved, the detective finally staggered up to his feet. Blurred and unfocused eyes tried to make sense of his office as he moved by instinct rather than sight. His desk was right there, the familiar worn wood and chipped surface just as tattered as he left it. The neon lights from the all night diner outside blazed a bloody red, spilling into his office and beating back the darkness that crowded around the edges of his eyesight. He hadn’t been here, he’d been somewhere else. That much he remembered.

He sat heavily in his chair, leaning back until the springs groaned and dug around in his pocket for a cigarette. Either he was battling the worst hangover of his life or someone had slugged him, but he couldn’t quite remember who. He scrubbed his hands tiredly across his face and braced himself as he finally switched on his desk lamp, almost blinding himself in the process. What a mess. It looked like someone had torn his place apart and… the dead body sprawled on the hardwood with its head crushed in was definitely new. Stiles squinted suspiciously at the limp form, trying to place what was left of its face.

“Stiles!” Malia banged hard enough on his door to make it rattle and the detective flinched. “Open the damn door.”

“Awww, hell.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find Dans's awesome fics [here](http://nevertrustastilesthing.tumblr.com/)
> 
> You can read Rune's stuff [Here](http://fightingforthepack.tumblr.com/) and find her on tumblr at [ Runicscribbles](http://runicscribbles.tumblr.com)


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